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FROM 

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GIFT  OF 


MESSAGES  FROM  MOTHER 

THE  LITTLE  POEMS 

OF  ADELINE  DRINKWATER 

MORTON 


PRIVATELY 

PUBLISHED  FOR  HER  FAMILY  BY 

PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 

SAN  FRANCISCO 


Copyright,  1913 
By  Mary  E.  G.  Morton 


THIS  LITTLE  BOOK  IS  A  GIFT  OF  LOVE 
TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  BEST  OF  PAR- 
ENTS. IT  IS  CHARACTERISTIC  OF  MOTHER 
THAT  SHE  SHOULD  HAVE  FURNISHED  THE 
MATERIAL  FOR  ITS  COMPOSITION.  THE 
VERSES  WERE  ALL  WRITTEN  UNDER  THE 
PRESSURE  OF  SORROW,  IN  THE  EVENING 
OF  HER  LIFE,  THE  FIRST  AT  THE  AGE  OF 
SIXTY-FIVE,  THE  LAST,  AT  EIGHTY-FIVE. 
BUT  THE  UNDERLYING  NOTE  OF  FAITH 
AND  HOPE  IS  SO  STRONG  THAT  HER  CHIL- 
DREN PLACE  THEM  IN  THE  HANDS  OF 
FRIENDS  WITH  THE  DESIRE  THAT  THEY 
MAY  BEAR  TO  THEM,  AS  IF  FROM  HER 
NEW  LIFE,  THE  SAME  MESSAGE  OF  COM- 
FORT THAT  THEY  HAVE  BROUGHT  TO  US. 

SACRAMENTO,  CALIFORNIA 

NOVEMBER  FOURTEEN,  NINETEEN 

HUNDRED  AND  THIRTEEN 


232831 


MESSAGES  FROM  MOTHER 


WHEN  to  me  the  veil  is  lifted, 
And  my  captive  soul  is  free 
From  the  fetters  that  have  bound  it 
To  this  form  of  earthly  clay; 

Will  my  vision  be  unclouded, 
Will,  unfolded  to  my  view, 
There  be  forms  of  dear  departed 
Loves  of  this  earth  to  renew? 

Will  my  dear,  my  blessed  children 
Come  to  meet  my  spirit  here, 
Hence  to  guide  me  with  a  welcome 
Full  of  joy  and  love  sincere? 

To  the  blessed  world  of  spirits, 
Where  no  pain  or  strife  is  found, 
Where  all  harbors  and  all  havens 
Freighted  with  good  will  abound; 

To  that  boundless  world  of  spirits, 
To  that  promised,  happy  land 
Where  the  soul  its  own  inherits, 
Where  no  barriers  can  stand. 


Where  no  wealth  of  golden  treasure 
Can  deny  the  spirit's  right 
There  to  drink  in  without  measure 
Blessings  of  eternal  light; 

Light  to  guide  and  light  to  counsel 
Any  erring  souls,  astray, 
Who  in  darkness  may  have  lingered, 
Searching  for  the  light  of  day. 

In  every  spirit,  undeveloped, 
There  are  germs  of  Truth  and  Love; 
If  we  work  for  their  unfoldment, 
We  reap  blessings  from  above. 

Thus  our  spirit,  while  progressing 
In  this  work  so  beauteous  bright, 
With  its  freight  of  richest  blessing 
Shining  as  a  beacon  light; 

Finds  its  mission  and  fulfillment 
In  these  fields  of  living  light, 
And  pure  joy  in  the  attainment 
Of  the  Truth,  divinely  bright. 


April  Twenty-One, 
Eighteen  Hundred  and 
Ninety-Two 


CAN  doubt  arise  within  my  soul 
What  is  my  destiny, 
When  to  my  vision  oft  at  night 
There  comes  a  lovely,  radiant  light 
And  breathes  a  prayer  to  me? 

These  bodies  bright,  so  full  of  light, 
Can  from  no  evil  come; 
I  bid  them  welcome  to  my  side — 
They  come,  and  often  there  abide 
Till  tears  my  eyes  bedim. 

I  know  they  are  my  children  dear, 
I'm  sure  it  must  be  so; 
I  hear  their  breathings  in  my  ear, 
And  sometimes  think  I  faintly  hear 
Sounds  that  are  sweet  and  low. 

Oh,  Father,  God,  Oh  hear  my  prayer; 
In  loving  trust  I  come; 
Give  me  the  faith  and  strength  to  bear 
Affliction's  weight  and  Sorrow's  care 
Till  I  my  task  have  done. 


WHY  should  I  murmur  or  repine 
When  blessings  have  my  pathway  strew'd; 
Will  this  rebellious  heart  of  mine 
With  meekness  never  be  subdued? 

Our  Father,  God,  to  Thee  I  pray 
For  resignation  to  Thy  will; 
Let  Love  and  Truth  my  conflict  stay 
And  bid  my  troubled  soul  be  still. 

And  tears,  a  solace  to  my  grief, 
Which  down  my  cheeks  unbidden  roll, 
Though  oft  they  bring  my  heart  relief, 
They  hold  dominion  o'er  my  soul. 

Then  nerve  my  heart  in  virtue's  strength, 
That  I,  to  every  impulse  weak, 
Resist  obedience,  till  at  length 
Triumphant  soul  its  empire  seek. 

Eighteen  Hundred  and 
Ninety-  Fire 


O,  WHY,  with  this  inspired  light 
Op'ning  our  paths  which  lead  to 

every  good, 
Filling  our  hearts  with  hope  and 

promise  bright, 
Can  we  not  stand  where  our  dear 

Savior  stood? 

He  came  to  show  us  how  to  live, 
That  living  right,  we  might  know 

how  to  die; 

Of  his  instructions  he  did  freely  give 
That  we  unheeding  might  not  pass 

them  by. 

Could  his  example  we  but  imitate, 
And  live  the  blessed  truths  which  he 

did  teach, 
Soon  we  should  rise  to  his  own  high 

estate, 
Soon  find  his  virtues  all  within  our 

reach. 


November, 

Eighteen  Hundred  and 

Ninety-Five 


WAITING 

WAITING  for  the  final  summons 
That  will  bear  my  soul  away 
To  that  home  of  life  eternal 
Brighter  than  the  brightest  day. 

Earthly  ties  will  then  be  severed, 
And  the  silver  cord  be  loosed, 
And  the  golden  bowl  be  broken 
When  my  spirit  is  released. 

In  that  home  of  life  eternal 
There's  a  house  not  built  with  hands; 
In  it  there  are  many  mansions 
In  his  wisdom  God  has  planned. 

In  that  blessed  home  immortal 
Eye  hath  not  seen,  ear  hath  not  heard 
Of  the  things  for  those  who  love  him 
God  has  prepared. 

Then  we  shall  be  so  delighted 
When  we  reach  our  heavenly  home; 
There  with  dear  ones  reunited, 
Greater  happiness  could  not  come. 


Let  us  all  then  be  contented 
With  whate'er  our  lot  may  be, 
Ever  faithful  to  the  precepts 
Jesus  taught  and  gave  us  free. 


This  poem  was  written  at  the 
age  of  eighty-five  years. 
Nineteen  Hundred 
and  Twelve 


282831 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


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